


Spar

by por_queeee



Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen (Comic)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, First Time, Homophobic Language, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/por_queeee/pseuds/por_queeee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time that they've sparred, but it's certainly the most eventful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spar

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009, and winner of LJ user natureslove's kinkmeme contest. My random-roll prompts for this were "caught wanking" and "loud orgasm."

The impromptu spar begins innocently enough; a proposed solution for their boredom as they wait for night to fall. Rorschach agrees easily enough, stripping down to a wife-beater and his distinct pinstripe pants, Daniel changing into a t-shirt and shorts. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this, an enjoyable way to hone their skills, an excuse for Daniel to spend time with his rapidly distancing partner.

Rorschach uses his usual technique of fighting; moving as if he’s a mental patient, (Daniel stubbornly refusing to pause and consider the possibility that he is,) dodging and throwing jabs with no apparent pattern. His skill, Dan knows, lays primarily in his unpredictability and ruthlessness; of course, when they have these little matches the latter is missing from the routine. For Daniel’s part he attempts to use his larger reach as an advantage; after all, Rorschach is significantly smaller than him, possessing shorter arms and legs and, therefore, a much more restricted range. Unfortunately it’s working out about as well as usual; somehow, Dan is being bested. Perhaps it’s because he can’t tear his eyes from the smoothly rippling muscles or the spattering of freckles on the exposed shoulders, although he likes to think he has more self restraint than that.

His frustration mounts; the shifting blots on his partner’s face serve only as fodder for his anger, seeming to taunt him. The rapport of blows speeds up, as does the rate of perspiration for both men. Rorschach huffs dully through his mask, constricting latex serving as an obvious disadvantage; eventually he pulls it half-way up, giving Dan a glimpse of a rough stubbled jaw.

The glancing blow to the side of Daniel’s face is what tears it though, sending his glasses tumbling through the air. He pauses, looking up at Rorschach in disbelief.

“Apologies Daniel. Didn’t mean to-” Rorschach begins, lowering his fists. Daniel leaps towards him without hesitation, cutting him off. With a thud they collide, both tumbling to the ground, Rorschach’s fedora flying off of his head.

“Hah! Got you!” Daniel exclaims giddily through his weak exhalations, legs straddling either side of Rorschach’s toned waist, arms pressing both of the smaller man’s wrists above his head. Rorschach seems to wriggle for a moment, presumably attempting to free himself from the iron grip. But Daniel is in good shape, patrols as Nite Owl keeping him fit, and he keeps his hands cinched around the other man’s struggling arms. Rorschach’s ripe stench drifts to his nose and he successfully manages to suppress the urge to turn his head in disgust. God only knows the last time he had actually taken a fucking shower.

“Daniel.” Rorschach growls. “Let. Me. Up.”

Daniel smiles goofily, unsuccessfully attempting to blow a dangling strand of hair from his forehead. “No way. This is the first time I’ve managed to best you in months; no way am I letting you up that easy.”

“Not funny, Daniel.” Rorschach responds, breath seemingly more ragged than before. Daniel shifts, the other man’s sharp bones prodding him unpleasantly; as he does Rorschach freezes, ceasing to struggle, a curious almost pained look clawing at what little of his face is visible. Dan frowns at this, studying the hard line of his friend’s mouth, the sudden increase in the small body’s rigidity.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Fine. Now let me up.” Rorschach breathes through gritted teeth, still motionless. Dan nods, worried by the unusually fast pace of the pulse that beats below his fingers, the odd little noises that Rorschach makes in the back of his throat each time Daniel moves. It doesn’t help that he himself is beginning to develop a weak flutter in his stomach, the nuisance of a vague arousal pressing the matter farther than he wants it to go.

“Uh, okay… Sorry…” He goes to move off, letting go of his captive’s arms. As he begins to stand, sliding up from Rorschach’s hips carefully, the other man seems to actually buck up into him, a suspicious keening noise slipping between his lips. They both freeze for a moment; Daniel crouched over his partner, Rorschach in the midst of sitting up. “Wha-… Are you okay?” Daniel asks again, leaning down to look at the smaller man, a small uncomfortable warmness growing in his stomach. The blots of Rorschach’s “face” shift cryptically and he growls ferociously, shoving Daniel the rest of the way off of him and standing up swiftly.

“Get off.” He grunts as he pushes Dan away, pulling his mask back down, hurriedly snatching up the rest of his clothes. With a jerky flourish he stuffs his hat back onto his head and strides away so fast he’s practically jogging. Daniel steps after him, confused.

“Hey, where are you-“  
But the door at the top of the steps slams shut, cutting him off, and he stops. It isn’t uncommon, these little fits of Rorschach’s; but normally when he storms off, apparently because of some offense on his “delicate sensibilities” as Dan sarcastically refers to them, (strictly in his own head, of course,) he leaves Daniel’s house; he never clambers up the stairs into it.

Daniel stoops to pick up his glasses, thankful for the fact that they aren’t damaged; Rorschach has broken many more pairs than he would like to consider. Keeping count would just be testament to the fact that the man is a walking safety hazard. As he gingerly pushes them back onto his face, blinking at the familiar pressure that settles on the bridge of his nose, he sighs. What could he have possibly done? One minute they were fighting, and the next… Well, the next Rorschach was moving oddly beneath him with strained breathing, and then bursting into his house with a frightening look of urgency on his half-visible face.

Dan’s skin still tingles where it touched Rorschach’s and he sighs, brushes his fingers through his sweat matted tangles of hair. It’s easy to quell the disturbing urges that suddenly arise upon remembering that the vigilante had just been underneath him by focusing on the small fact that Rorschach is not only a homophobe but, in Dan’s opinion, a creature with absolutely no sex-drive. Ever since the Roche case it’s been even easier, considering the complete dissipation of what little emotion Rorschach once allowed himself to display. Now he seems to constrict himself purely to anger and indifference, and yet Daniel can’t bring himself to blame the man, as hard as he tries. No, not considering the case’s outcome.

Unwanted urges successfully overcome, Dan sighs and climbs the stairs to his house, fully expecting to find Rorschach stewing in his anger over a can of baked beans. Instead, he is greeted by an empty kitchen.

“Rorschach?” He calls uncertainly, repeating it in every room of the house as he searches for the man. Maybe he’s left, decided to wait out the time until patrol by himself? Or, more likely, he’s decided to start earlier than he should, with the sunlight still casting faint glares on New York’s streets.

As he climbs the stairs to the second floor he hears a noise coming from his bathroom, or, to be truthful, several noises. The first is the steady flow of water; after living in the brownstone alone for so long, it’s easy to identify the noise’s source as his sink. The second proves much more difficult to distinguish; at first it sounds like heavy breathing, odd little panting noises. Soon it devolves into actual words though, and Daniel creeps closer instinctively, head craning almost comically in an attempt to discern the word that seems to be uttered over and over again. Finally he manages to make out what Rorschach seems to mumble under rushed breaths.

“Daniel.” His partner grunts through the door, and Daniel’s face blanches. Rorschach is groaning his name, is in his bathroom with the door shut. He quickly tries to mentally distance himself from the answer that all of his instincts point to; that Rorschach is masturbating in his bathroom, presumably thinking of him. He can’t quite extinguish the fire that starts to burn in his gut at the thought though, and the voice in the back of his head reminds him that this explains Rorschach’s odd behavior during their fight much better than anything else seems to.

“Uh, Rorschach?” He calls before he can stop himself, heart pounding in his chest at a surprising rate. The arousing little noises from the other side of the door cease altogether; Daniel has the sudden image of a deer caught in the headlights. He’s certain that Rorschach has heard him, but he is granted no reply.

Deciding to try again, he raps lightly on the door, a sinking feeling in his gut because what the fuck is he doing? “A-are you ok in there?” He hollers, louder this time so as to be certain; and still, there is no response.

His palms begin to sweat a bit, his heart thrums in his ears, and he is aware of an unpleasant hardness developing between his legs as he recalls the sound of his name being uttered low and rough by his partner amidst lustful grunts. Oh god, there isn’t any going back; he can’t just walk away and pretend he didn’t hear the other man jacking off in his bathroom, that all of his longings of the past several years hadn’t just been validated.

He licks his lips, hand gently resting on the knob; he knows this door doesn’t have a lock, so unless Rorschach has barricaded the doorway, (which Daniel grudgingly admits to himself is a likely possibility,) his entry won’t be impeded. Well, not until he gets a punch in the face or a kick to the groin that is.

“If you don’t say something I’m coming in.” He says with a false air or resolution. For whatever reason, Rorschach doesn’t respond, and Daniel listens carefully. All he can hear is the patter of water in the faux-marble sink. “Alright then.” He mumbles weakly, turning the knob. He pushes the door open before he loses his quickly depleting resolve, stepping into the doorway; there sits Rorschach on the toilet, half-masked face stiffened in what is most likely sheer terror.

His pants are still up although the zipper is undone, his erection pulled through the opening of his boxers in a manner that suggests urgency. They just stay like that for a moment, gaze locked despite the mask between them, Daniel standing in the door gaping dumbly, Rorschach on the toilet with his cock in hand. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so downright disturbing.

Rorschach seems to snap out of his daze, hurriedly trying to stand, unsuccessfully attempting to shove himself back into his pants. “Daniel.” He growls angrily, tripping over his words. “Shouldn’t have come in- Your fault I was- Didn’t mean to-”

Daniel’s eyes flick over the small man, filled with confusion and pent-up sexual energy. He didn’t think this was possible, Rorschach thought anything like this was disgusting, how could he…

“Stop staring.” Rorschach screams, and Daniel watches as the red of embarrassment and anger heat his neck and half exposed face.

“You were, uh… You were saying my name.” He responds, feeling blush creep over his own cheeks. He hopes that his partial erection isn’t terribly obvious, but he knows it is in the flimsy work out shorts; especially as Rorschach’s head tilts downwards, indicating that his eyes are locked on his arousal.

“…Was your fault.” Rorschach repeats, managing to zip up his pants, quaking. It’s the first time Daniel has ever seen Rorschach afraid, and it doesn’t do anything to help his discomfort with the situation. “Couldn’t stop… Couldn’t control disgusting urge. You were on me, innocent, good, but I couldn’t… Filthy, bad.” Rorschach asserts, and it’s painfully obvious that he’s still hard beneath the pinstripes; he seems to forget to pull his mask down, and some part of Daniel, the buried courage usually reserved for his work as Nite Owl, decides to take advantage of the situation.

With one extension of his long legs Daniel is kissing him, hot and heavy on the mouth, eyes squeezed shut until he sees flashes of light behind the lids because holy shit he is about to die. Not surprisingly, Rorschach’s hands clench around his arms in preparation to shove Dan off, body stiff as a board. But instead of pushing him away he seems to pull him closer, grinding their bodies together, and Daniel’s mouth gapes against the other man’s as his erection brushes against the taught stomach through flimsy cloth.

Daniel Dreiberg has no idea what is happening, but he is enjoying it immensely.

“Oh shit, Rorschach.” He gasps, stumbling slightly as he pushes the other man to a wall; he’s overcome by lust, by something he’s resisted and denied their entire partnership, and when he knows his feelings are reciprocated it seems to make it all the more unbearable, irrepressible. He kisses him again, harder, and their teeth clash and click with the fervor of this unnamable thing. He can’t even begin to fathom why he isn’t being shoved away and berated with streams of homophobic and anti-Semitic insults, but he doesn’t care. Rorschach is hard against his leg and he presses against him, hand fumbling clumsily as it struggles to find the other man’s stiffened member.

He rubs through the fabric clumsily and Rorschach groans into his mouth, an animalistic version of the mutters Daniel stumbled upon earlier. They’re overcome by the intensity of it and give in; Rorschach’s inexpert hand plunging down Dan’s shorts as Daniel unzips his pants and slides a hand in his boxers. Rorschach practically assaults his mouth as they thrust into each other’s hands, sweat and glossy pre-cum the only real lubricant; at one point he nips Dan’s tongue accidentally, drawing a small drop of coppery blood. Daniel doesn’t even notice.

It’s imperfect, rough, and above all else awkward, and yet simultaneously the hottest thing Daniel has ever experienced. He likes girls; has always enjoyed their softness, their curves pressed into his side. But somehow this feels better, more fitting, Rorschach’s awkward angles stabbing at his muscles with what hedges on vehemence.

“Wrong.” Rorschach grunts through labored breath, stroking over Dan’s head with the calloused pads of his fingers, eliciting a shiver and a moan. He bucks his hips into Daniel’s hand with an increased pace, hands clawing at the taller man’s back. “Faggots, Daniel.”

“Mm.” Is all Daniel can muster, trying to take it all in, the feel of Rorschach’s hand around him, the beads of sweat that swell up on the freckled shoulders, even Rorschach’s smell, as disgusting as it is, seeming to turn him on even more, just as the semi-anonymity and power of the inkblot mask forces his cock to twitch in Rorschach’s inexperienced hand. Their pace becomes more erratic, hips jerking in reckless spasms; both men trying to finish as quickly as possible despite how amazing it feels. Anything else, anything slower and more careful would seem too intimate, and Daniel knows he can’t cross the line as much as he wants to.

They’re close, so very close, and Rorschach is the first to teeter over the brink, already half-finished from his previous guilty pleasures. He jerks roughly in Dan’s hand, crushing their bodies together tightly with the fervor of his orgasm, head thunking back against the tiles of the wall so hard Daniel thinks for a moment that they’ll shatter. What surprises Daniel the most though is that Rorschach is a fucking screamer.

“Daniel.” He cries, or at least some fragmentation of the name that is a kind of keening animalistic scream, the release of what Daniel expects to be years of sexual frustration. Dan can almost laugh, just because this is so bizarre, so impossible. Not only is he jerking off a man he had assumed to be asexual but he’s just found out that the toughest bastard he’s ever met is a… A noisy comer.

Rorschach clutches Dan’s shirt so hard it nearly rips, the threads straining to hold and Daniel leans in, clumsily kissing the other man’s jaw, thrusting into the hand that’s starting to go limp around him.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He mumbles against the fiery flecks of stubble, feeling Rorschach’s seed spill over his hand as his hips spasm a few more times, riding out the orgasm. He’s so close himself, and Rorschach seems to realize he’s not the only one trying to get off here, resuming his clumsy strokes of Daniel’s erection even as his body seems to sag from his own release.

When Rorschach hesitantly nudges Dan’s chin up, pressing their lips together in what almost resembles tenderness and giving a final friction wrought pull over Dan’s cock, he final comes with a choked gasp of the other man’s name. For that brief moment as he bucks into the other man’s palm with a newfound desperation, Rorschach’s lips are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted despite the questionable condition of the teeth they shield.

They’re too flustered afterwards to move, Rorschach using the wall for support and Dan using Rorschach. After a few minutes that somehow refuse to be as awkward as they really should, Daniel burying his head in the smaller man’s sweat drenched shoulder, Rorschach pushes him off lightly, zipping his pants back up.

Dan staggers backwards, legs refusing to work properly after what’s just happened, settling on the lid of the toilet out of necessity. He looks up at Rorschach sadly, brushing his sweat slicked bangs from his eyes and clearing his throat. Both men seem to remember themselves, wiping the salty white liquid off their hands and onto the nearest available fabric.

“You uh… You don’t have to leave.” Dan says hopefully, smiling weakly at his partner, (and for the first time he realizes how many connotations the word really carries.)

Rorschach grunts in response, chest still heaving ever so slightly. He turns to leave, rolls his mask back over his mouth, the window to his humanity disappearing. He stalks to the doorway, and Daniel stands up, swaying slightly at first.

“Please, we uh… We need to talk. About this.” Rorschach doesn’t respond but he also doesn’t finish his exit. Daniel bites his lip, opens his mouth only to shut it again. “I… I liked it Rorschach. It was great. I’ve wanted that for, um… For a long time, so…” He sighs, his only relatively clean hand rising to ruffle his hair in frustration. “Just don’t… Don’t hate me.”

Rorschach looks at him, and the black splotches seem to shift judgmentally. Daniel falters under the man’s invisible gaze. “Don’t hate you Daniel. My fault.” Even as he says it he seems to shake, and Daniel knows it’s not from the aftermath of the deed but from an all consuming guilt.

Dan goes to step forward, stopping, knowing he’ll only scare Rorschach away. It’s almost sad how similar he is to a frightened alley cat, abandoned and violent, untrusting of anyone but himself; claws baring at the smallest sign of danger or affection. Dan tries to say something, struggling to move his suddenly leaden tongue, only to fail.

“Daniel. Leaving because it’s time for patrol, not because of… This.” Rorschach says quietly. It’s small as far as reassurances go but huge for Rorschach’s version of comforting. It’s a kind of promise, that maybe for awhile this will be okay and Rorschach won’t estrange himself anymore than he already has.

It’s small, but it’s perfectly enough for Daniel.


End file.
